Flames
by NotANerd133
Summary: Burn. He wants to burn. Not too hard. A tiny bit. Pain...can't always be so bad, can it? - Jughead plays with matches. Inspired by Episode Seven.


**_Story: Flames_**

 ** _Pairing (s): Friendships but Barchie is implied and Bughead is one sided_**

 ** _Summary:_** ** _Burn. He wants to burn. Not too hard. A tiny bit. Pain...can't always be so bad, can it? - Jughead plays with matches. Inspired by Episode Seven._**

 ** _A/N - Because Jughead has been through some shit that he doesn't deserve. Also, Beronica is next. Three weeks is too long of a episode break._**

* * *

 _"I was playing with matches, and that's a pretty tenuous connection for a sheriff."_

\- Jughead Jones, Chapter Seven: In a Lonely Place

* * *

 ** _Flames_**

 _._

 _._

 _._

Six years ago. A raven haired boy with a drunk for a father, a mother too busy raising her own husband than the two kids she shared with him. Said kids were caught in the web that was, unfortunately, life. A tragic story, that much he knows. The town of Riverdale held more harm than good. It always has.

And he rides the bus to school on the regular like he cares where he ends up five years from now. The chipped yellow paint, rickety seats, nauseating smell of gas...Ugh. He couldn't stand it. Nor could he stand the idiotic kids that resided within. Their taunts and jeers as he boarded the bus wearing nothing but black never failed to cross his mind. They all had something he wanted.

Family.

Don't get him wrong. He loves his mom and his sister. He loves them with all his heart, er, however much he has left of it anyway, and would do anything to keep them in his life forever. But eventually they'd cease to have any relevance to him at all and when that day comes he'll be the hurricane everyone would hate to see. Those days are a long time from now, though, so he can relax.

Relaxation involved glaring out the window, praying, _desperately praying_ , someone would rescue him from this hell hole. Riverdale Elementary School had to be the most sorry excuse of a school to ever exist. Friends were far and in between and the ones he did have were riding in luxury convertibles with parents that had jobs and lives and other shit. Picture perfect families; something he's sure they can't possibly be.

His relaxation was disturbed by an obnoxious force. Said force was known as Reggie and oh gosh, what a dangerous name. How ever was he to survive the torture?

"You're a loser," Reggie says. "No wonder your dad's always drinking."

People snickered.

The boy looked and sounded uninterested. "You do realize the physical state of being a loser is already visible when I see you, right?"

Gasps. No applause. What joy.

Reggie grabbed him by the front of his shirt and pushed him against the window. The other boys soon joined him. They punched and kicked him. He tried blocking their hits but he could feel the warmness of blood trickling down the side of his face. The bus driver didn't stop to check if he was okay. Those not fighting shouted the most obscene comments.

 _Let it be over,_ he thought.

* * *

Archie Andrews greeted him during homeroom. He smiled at his best friend, but then the smile turned sour. His best friend had way too many scars and bruises for his comfort.

"Jug?"

The boy seated himself in the back of the classroom. He had no books and even if he had a bag, there most likely wouldn't be anything in it. He tapped the desk with his fist and hummed.

Humming does wonder for the soul. Archie remembers Jug telling him this during a camping trip they took last summer.

"Jug, please. What happened?" Archie asked.

"Nothing," he said. "Nothing happened, Arch. Just let it go."

Redheaded Archie refused to listen. He bent down close to Jug's ear and whispered, "Reggie? Was Reggie messing with you again?"

Jug shoved Archie Andrews away. Archie appeared hurt. Jug didn't care for this shit.

"Yes. He was. But it's never just him. It's everyone on that goddamn bus. You know how they are. Why don't you get involved? You're suppose to be my friend!"

The bell rung. Students filed in. Gave him strange looks. Archie acted like their spat never occurred, sitting in the front near the teacher's desk.

The teacher only called on Jug once for attendance. He stayed quiet the entire class.

Nobody cares what he thinks anyway.

* * *

Lunch time. Girls in pleated skirts and button down shirts. Oh, and pigtails. Can't forget pigtails. That was exclusively for obnoxious snobs Riverdale Elementary School had the pleasure to know.

But Betty Cooper was different.

She wasn't stuck up. Nor had she ever been. She wasn't mean or cruel or crude. She was everything she could be. Well, except his, of course. The blonde with a beautiful smile wanted the redhead everybody liked. And that's what Jughead wasn't.

He wasn't likable. Likeable people weren't bullied on a daily basis. Likeable people weren't the punchline to everyone's jokes. They also certainly won't labeled by their teachers as Least Likely To Succeed In Life. Likeable...wasn't a synonym for him.

But when he steps outside homeroom, he's bombarded by Betty and her warm hug and her soft hands and her sweet words and instantly the world around him begins to fade away. They're more than just a couple kids growing up together in Riverdale. She's more than a friend. He's what she wants.

If only she weren't in love _with Archie._

Pessimistic storm clouds muddle his brain.

 _Are you okay?_ She asks.

 _Who did this you?_ She frets over him.

 _Jughead? Speak to me. Please…_

He gulps, gently removes her hand off his cheek.

She's patient.

"I'm okay. Just…" he sees Archie approaching in the distance, behind Betty. "I tripped. You know me. Ha, ha."

He doesn't even know why he bothers sometimes. She can see straight through him. Probably sees him down to his quick beating heart and shallow breaths. Perceptive is something she's always been. Is it bad? Nah, but he needs some space. Everything was beginning to be too much.

He takes off and never looks back.

* * *

Boys bathroom. He's late for class and could care more. It's only him, the stall, a match. Matches, to be precise. Stress reliever, if anybody asks.

Sweat beads his forehead. He's lit matches before, at home. His mother thought he didn't know where she placed them in their trailer, but he found them hiding under the wood underneath his mom's side of the bed. Her love for cigarettes was an addiction she conquered on her own. Now, they're there for emergencies and believe him, his sanity was an emergency indeed.

 _Loser._

 _Your father's a drunk._

 _Who would want to be related to you anyway?_

 _How's it feel to be poor?_

 _She's never gonna love you._

Burn. He wants to burn. Not too hard. A tiny bit. Pain...can't always be so bad, can it?

He lights the match. The smoke fills his nose, rises to the ceiling. He places it close to his wrist, because he wants to understand how much the flames could hurt him…

...but the fire alarm blares in its wake.

* * *

What he did had its consequences.

For starters, Archie and Betty didn't dare look at him while the police carried him away. Actually, Betty was too busy crying into Archie's shoulder to even turn her head at him.

 _This is gonna be on your record_ , the authorities told him. So there went his chance at acquiring a scholarship and getting the hell out of Riverdale. Though during that same week, lying on a cot in a cell he shares with six other boys, he concludes leaving won't be a problem if he has no reason to stay.

The worst part is knowing once he's released, rumors will spread. _You're no better than your father_ , they'll say. And he has no choice but to ignore them and continue on. But dear God, he might not be able to.

The backseat of the police car is cold, but the rain outside is ten times worse.


End file.
